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Incident
Incidents must supply movement and life; they must add the details which make a story rounded and complete. Upon their, skilful choice and arrangement, much of the effectiveness of a story depends. Incidents serve in three ways: to illustrate, to forward movement, and to give emotional stimulus. No story is likely to limit their use to a single way. Action and emotion must appear together in every story; hence incidents of movement and incidents of emotion will be found side by side or in combination. Illustrative incidents are more rarely found; they are not fundamentally necessary. Incidents of Movement are, of course, of the very life of a story. Such are the plot incidents; such the subsidiary incidents that further the progress of action. By arranging emotional incidents so that they come between important incidents of movement, one may produce the effect of minor crises and keep the story from suffering from a dull monotony of relentless progression. It might be supposed that crises would quicken interest, then cause it to lag; that they would not only break monotony but also slacken suspense; that, consequently, a story would consist of a succession of jolts and would have no final singleness of impression. To one climbing a hill, the full glory of vision is revealed only at the end of the ,ascent. Yet all along the way there are partial revelations, which indicate one's progress and grow in beauty as one rises. So it is in the Short-story; each new crisis enlarges the view, but the climax fulfils them all at the last. There is ever an upward gradation, and the crises but mark the lookout points along the way, each point higher than the one preceding. Between crises there need be no weakening of interest and suspense, for one need not descend into the valley before reaching each higher position. Thus, in The Outcasts of Poker Flat, the first crisis is the declaration of the Duchess that she will go no farther, and the consequent halting. The next crisis is The Innocent's offer of his mule-load of pro- visions. The third is the discovery of snow; the fourth, Uncle Billy's theft of the mules; the fifth, Mr. Oakhurst's departure from camp. Here is a crescendo of interest. All the way there has been a gradual winding up of suspense toward the climax which is yet to come. Mrs. Knollys shows excellently the same structure. The first crisis is Charles Knollys' fall into the crevasse: the second, the German scientist's announcement that the body cannot be recovered: the third is the letter telling of the possibility of finding the body after forty- five years. The climax is, of course, the actual recovery of the body after the long years of waiting. Between crises there is not the lagging of interest that one might expect in this sort of story. Each time, one waits to hear how Mrs. Knollys is going to bear the new announcement. Thus, there is also a natural emotional progression between crises, and the story moves directly toward the end without check or jar. The second type — the illustrative incident — likewise appeals to the intellect. Illustrations, in expository writing, illuminate. So do illustrative incidents in narrative. Sometimes they give merely a clearer insight into some fact of the story; they make it vivid by making it concrete. Frequently, a character is thus explained. When in Markheim, "the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn," the murderer drifts into a revery that shows how great has been his fall from an innocent childhood. Of course, this incident has also a certain emotional value, yet it is chiefly illustrative. The incident already referred to in The Revolt of Mother, — that of Sarah Penn's making mince pies —, is illustrative. Still another in the same story is Adoniram's complaint that his wife should have kept the boy at home to help unload wood. Some- times an illustrative incident may serve to shed new light on a theme. It may approach the theme from a new direction, and become a means of "utmost emphasis" by presenting an additional circumstance. In They, the illness and death of Jenny's child is but to show the love of a mother. Such incidents are easily combined with those of movement or of illustration. Emotional incidents do not further the action of a story directly. They give tone and atmosphere and stimulate the reader's sympathy. They may be mood-giving and in absolute harmony with the tone; they may lighten a story by a sudden spark of humor. Whether they are used, however, to intensify or to relieve, they may assist in creating a single impression. Although emotional incidents may stand alone, as in The Madonna of the Future already referred to, they are usually combined with those of movement or of illustration. The incident in Markheim of the striking of the clocks is a subtle blending of two kinds. Obviously, the emotional suspense is vastly heightened, yet one cannot deny that Markheim's conscience is thus prepared for what follows. The incident combines emotion and movement. The oftener such com- binations can be made, the stronger the story: for condensation increases rapidity and rapidity always tends toward directness. Just as one studies the kinds of incidents and seeks to vary them one with another, so one must be ever watchful that character and action and atmosphere appear in due proportion. Each element must receive a proper, but not an over- emphasis. In the relation of an incident or the Description of a character a great many minor and seemingly needless details may be given. They exist for emphasis. In The Revolt of Mother, a host of details are given about Sarah Penn. First, one is given a picture of her; then one sees her in her household duties; is told how she washes dishes, sweeps, bakes pies. Next, one sees her in relation to her husband — first giving him a "plain talk," then making his shirts, then preparing .him for 44-, trip. Many of these details seem almost unnecessary, but one must remember that this is a character story. At the climax, action is given its full chance. One witnesses the actual moving, the packing of the dishes, the carting of the household goods to the new barn, the transforming of the harness- room into the kitchen. Yet in everything, one is made to feel the force of character. In The Man Who Would Be King, little space is given to direct character portrayal. Here action — adventure — is really the main point. In so far as is necessary, character is portrayed through this medium. In Mrs. Knollys, character and atmosphere are chiefly emphasized; in The Masque of the Red Death, atmosphere. Occasionally, a striking character or a striking action may be best emphasized by few words. Briefness where one is expecting detail, may startle one into attention. Ordinarily, however, one should plan to give most space to that which demands most emphasis.